


(we are) doing better

by potterheading



Series: me and my husband universe [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Harry Potter, Domestic Violence, Healing, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Kinda, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Unhealthy Relationships, but did we really expect anything different from me, lowercase intended, my entry for the good for her cinematic universe, well good for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 13:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterheading/pseuds/potterheading
Summary: he’s not sure why he’s hesitating - here’s the way out he had been craving since this had all started. except, he’s too afraid to take it. he loves harry, doesn’t want to leave him - forgives him for all he’s done, all that he will do.-in which draco finds his happy ending.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s)
Series: me and my husband universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211108
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	(we are) doing better

**Author's Note:**

> hi! 
> 
> thanks for clicking!
> 
> this story is a companion piece to "idiot (with the painted face), the first story in this series! it will make some sense without it, but the two are better read together. 
> 
> large tw for domestic abuse and somewhat graphic depictions of violence. also, you're not going to like harry in this fic. sorry!
> 
> title is, once again, from me and my husband by mitski! 
> 
> enjoy!

all things must come to an end. 

it’s a lesson that draco learned reluctantly from a young age, and had experienced a thousand times over since then. he remembers his mother’s mesmerizing magical light shows, always fading after a few moments, before he could truly appreciate their beauty. christmas evenings at the manor, when his family would abandon their pureblood traditions and laugh openly and loudly together, genuinely appreciating each other’s company, would wind down much too quickly for his liking, leaving him anxious for the next years holiday season.

everything ends - pain, joy, suffering, peace. 

charades. 

ironically enough, it is hermione granger and her disturbing lack of boundaries that save draco’s life. 

he and harry had been arguing - or, more appropriately, harry had been roaring at draco and draco had been sobbing pathetically as harry berated him, truly cruel words rolling off of his tongue incessantly. 

_filthy fucking death eater._ fair enough. 

_whore._ except harry had been his first, and likely his last. 

_waste of space._ nothing he hadn’t heard before. 

_i fucking hate you._ he had already guessed as much. 

it’s his crying that antagonizes harry to the point of grabbing draco - shoving him against the wall and wrapping his hand around draco’s throat, pressing his wand to his forehead. 

they’re like this when the floo roars, spitting out granger, who’s already rambling about something or the other. she freezes as she notices the scene before her, her eyes bulging as she takes in harry’s fist at draco’s throat, and draco’s red, tear stained face, his expression - more sad and resigned rather than scared, and the wand pressed to his forehead, and - 

“harry!” she shouts, rushing forward and shoving him away from draco. draco doubles over, attempting to catch his breath in deep, heart wrenching sobs. “harry, what are you doing?” 

she immediately doubles over, wrapping her arms around a wheezing draco and entangling their fingers, her grip on his waist so severe that it makes him wince. she’s afraid, that much is obvious in her shaking voice and fingers. draco’s not sure if she fears for her own life or for his, and the thought makes him want to cry again. 

“fuck, hermione,” harry says running his hands through his air. he sounds distressed and apologetic, nothing like the psychopathic mannerisms he had been portraying just a few moments ago. “you caught us at a bad time - we had just gotten into an argument. i got out of control.” he turns to draco now, also bending in half so that their eyes meet. his voice is deceptively doting, so much so that draco finds himself almost believing him anyway. “i’m sorry, draco. i love you.” 

hermione nods jerkily, but doesn’t release her grip on draco. harry notices this and a small crease appears in his forehead - his anger threatening to break through the careful mask he’s put on for hermione’s sake. it scares draco - surely harry wouldn’t dare hurt his friend… right? 

“is this true, draco?” she catches his eye, her own brown eyes wild and damp. her lips trembles and her hand, still in draco’s, shakes. 

_no,_ he wants to choke out. _please help me._

“yes,” he says instead, his voice hoarse, like it always is after a good strangling. “we got caught up in our anger.” he stands upright and pulls his hand from hermione’s, doing his best to look as if he’s not shaking like a leaf. 

“okay then,” she says slowly, turning to face harry. she still looks worried, but does a decent job of masking her blatant fear. “harry, why don’t you go make us some tea, and then we can have a long talk about ways to properly handle our anger.” 

draco wants to cry out - thanking merlin for the first time for hermione’s overbearingness and inability to mind her own business. however, a part of him fears exactly what will happen after she’s gone, when harry has another opening to release his anger and frustration. 

at hermione’s suggestion, harry clenches his fist imperceptibly, but draco catches it. he knows the violent side of harry quite intimately, knows that he wants nothing more than to grab hermione by her hair right now, and slam her face into the wall again and again, breaking her nose and knocking her unconscious. 

he had done it to draco before. afterwards, draco hadn’t left the house for three days, because even the glamour charm couldn’t stop him from crying every few minutes. 

except, harry can’t hurt hermione. she’s a powerful witch, she’s his friend, and she’s not his to hurt. besides, the only person he hates enough to do what he does is draco. he knows that if he refuses, she’ll be suspicious. and so he nods and smiles tightly, shooting draco a look that very clearly means, _behave, or i’ll kill you._

draco watches him as he leaves, his shoulders tense and his fists balled menacingly at his side. anger practically radiates off of him, paralyzing draco. he doesn’t want to think about what will happen after this distraction is over - after harry manages to charm granger back through the floo with smiles and promises to do the breathing exercises she was always peddling. he’ll turn to draco, the smile melting off of his face like butter, and throw him to the floor, maybe kicking him in the stomach until he pukes. maybe he’ll step on draco’s ankle and snap it again, before healing it incorrectly. or worse, he’ll do nothing at all, let draco think that hermione’s lessons worked. and then, in the middle of the night, he would drag draco from the bed, shouting and landing punch after punch everywhere he could reach. he wants to turn to granger and tell her to run, to leave before she can make things worse. 

instead, she wraps her hand around his wrist and begins dragging him towards the floo, shaking harder than ever. 

“hermione,” he whispers, his eyes wide with fear. harry could step back in at any second, pretending to ask how much sugar draco would like in his tea, but really just checking in to make sure that draco hasn’t tried to escape or tell hermione something. if he did, harry would probably throw all caution to the wind and kill draco right on the spot, and then obliviate hermione. 

“draco, you have to come with me, please -” she whispers, tugging on his arm with a ferocity that reminds him of pansy parkinson. he misses pansy. maybe he’ll get to see her again before he dies. “i’m afraid for you, we don’t have the time.” tears fall from her eyes freely as she yanks him towards the fireplace, grappling for the container filled with floo powder. “go, draco, please!” 

“hermione,” he pleads. he’s not sure why he’s hesitating - here’s the way out he had been craving since this had all started. except, he’s too afraid to take it. he loves harry, doesn’t want to leave him - forgives him for all he’s done, all that he will do. “i can’t - “ 

“you have to.” she says, throwing the floo powder down. she whispers her address, although the roar of the floo firing up is loud enough to alert harry in the kitchen. 

“draco?” he calls, and then his footsteps are coming down the hall, the steps that draco has memorized, and then he’s frozen, and shaking, and about to sick up everywhere, and he doesn’t know what to do - and then hermione is shoving him through the floo with a choked sob. 

he lands in hermione’s living room, stumbling as he does. he looks around - he’s been here a handful of times, but never without harry at his side, a firm grip on his waist. on the sofa, ron dozes lightly, and blinks up at draco, puzzled. he looks like he’s about to say something, likely ask draco to get out and allow him to continue his napping, 

and then the floo roars again, and hermione tumbles out. she doesn’t say anything, just immediately whips out her wand and begins to cast rapidly, sealing the floo and throwing up wards around the house. draco can recognize a few repelling and protection charms, and doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that she’s putting them up against her best friend, in protection of someone who once sneered at her and called her a _filthy mudblood_. she sobs and shakes visibly as she casts, but draco can still feel the strength of her magic going up around the house, warding it to the gills. this helps him to relax marginally, but he can still faintly feel the press of harry’s fist around his throat. 

it’s a bit ironic that she caught him with harry’s fist around his throat, draco thinks. harry didn’t often strangle him, but it had been the method that he had used the first time he had ever lain a finger on draco. but he knows hermione, her tenacity, can feel the strength of the wards going up around him right now. he won’t see harry again. not if she has something to say about it. 

this is what he thinks about as ron springs from the couch, pulling a distraught hermione into his arms. “what’s wrong? what’s happened?” he looks rapidly between draco and hermione, looking only a bit more confused than he does on any given day. draco looks away, not trusting himself to not dissolve into tears completely. 

the only thing more embarrassing than being vulnerable in front of granger would be being vulnerable in front of weasley. 

“it’s harry,” she sobs into his chest, sounding utterly heart-broken on draco’s behalf. it befuddles him, but is still somewhat comforting. however, he knows she’s mostly mourning the loss of her best friend. in seconds, harry had transformed from her best friend, to a faceless, abusive monster. she let out another heart-wrenching cry, and draco felt the strange desire to reach out and comfort her, as if he hadn’t been the one getting strangled. “he’s been hurting him. draco, harry’s been hurting draco. we should’ve seen it, ron, god - all this time. he - he always said that draco was just moody and reclusive but he was just… he was -” 

bizarrely enough, in this terrible, awkward moment, he wants harry. or at least, the harry from the beginning of their relationship. that harry would hold him like ron holds hermione, stroking his hair and kissing the crown of his head and making him tea and speaking gently to him until he can stop shaking. except, this harry, the gentle, doting one, is one and the same with the new harry, the harry who holds him at wandpoint and spews hatred and would have probably killed him eventually. the two seem so far divorced in his mind that he genuinely has difficulty processing the fact that they are the same person - that the harry who had once stroked his cheek and called him beautiful could also posses the capacity to be so cruel. 

he pushes the thought away. he doesn’t want to confront this idea right now, and judging from the look of pity weasley is giving him, he’s about to have plenty of time to do some deep introspection and discuss the issues in his and harry’s relationship. 

draco looks away, willing himself not to cry. 

-

he stays with ron and hermione for nearly four months - sleeping in their guest bedroom and staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering silently how his life had turned out this way. he supposes the dramatic irony of it all is appropriate - living with and depending on the goodwill of two people he had tormented for much of his childhood. they are kind to him, if not a bit awkward. it’s obvious that although they don’t seem to mind having him in the house, they’re not sure what to do with him. he tries to make himself useful, cleaning and cooking and generally staying out of the way, partly out of gratitude and partly because he’s unsure of where he would go if he didn’t have their support. 

he doesn’t see harry. ron and hermione do, at least a handful of times. a week after hermione rescues him, she knocks on his bedroom door, clutching a shrunken box filled with his things. they don’t talk about harry to him, or around him. occasionally, they’ll have an argument about him, with hermione shouting and crying about how _she can’t believe him_ , and ron attempting to reason with her, until they remember that draco is in their home, sequestered away in their guest bedroom, and then a noticeable silencing charm renders the rest of their conversation inaccessible. 

this is perhaps for the best - draco hadn’t realized exactly how traumatized he had been over the entire ordeal until after it was over. his eyes swam with tears each time he looked down at his wedding ring, still on his finger, even through all of this. he flinched when granger touched his shoulder, or when weasley spoke to loudly. he very rarely left the house, except for when hermione forced him into the garden for sunlight and fresh air because she felt he was getting too pale. he had nightmares - terrible ones about harry appearing through the floo and torturing granger and weasley for protecting draco, and then killing draco with his bare hands right in front of them. he dreamed about harry’s face, full of anger and hatred the last time draco had seen him. he always wakes with a start, often having screamed so loud that he accidentally shattered the silencing charm he casts on his room each night before bed. twice, weasley had burst into his room with his wand raised, prepared to fight off whatever had threated to attack draco, with granger hot on his heels. he had stood and fidgeted awkwardly when he was instead greeted with a sobbing and trembling draco, rubbing the back of his neck and blinking owlishly. 

when she’s not busy working at the ministry or reading about wizarding laws, granger takes it upon herself to become draco’s mind healer. 

“i think it would make you feel better to talk about it,” she says one morning, folding her hands in front of her on the table. draco had come down from his room for a mug of tea and a slice of toast, but was quickly regretting it. it wasn’t as if he didn’t talk to granger and weasley at all - the topic of conversation just usually revolved around asinine and mundane things, like the weather or a book draco was reading, not about the methods their best friend and draco’s husband had used to beat the shit out of him. “do you think so?” 

“what is it you want to know?” draco says softly, indulging her. after all, granger is practically a genius - and there might be some truth behind her claim. and if talking about harry could make draco stop feeling nauseous every time he looked in the mirror, than he was willing to try it. 

“it’s not necessarily what i want to know,” she says, looking a bit put out. “i just think it would help you begin to heal. although, i am curious, naturally. seeing harry like that was… shocking. i can’t imagine what it was like for you.” she looks up at draco now, her eyes already beginning to water. he didn’t remember harry ever mentioning just how much hermione seemed to cry. “i’m here to listen, but only if you feel ready to share.” 

he had tried - tried to tell her about how harry hadn’t loved him, about the way he ahd strangled draco once that first night and then fell in love with the idea of hurting draco. about how he never fought back because he trusted harry wholeheartedly. about how he would’ve died if harry decided that it was what he needed to do. about how he had resigned himself to life and death at harry’s hands. about how there are still nights when that hugs his own thin body to keep himself from shaking too hard, about how he hates himself now more than he has ever, and about how he still, inexplicably, loves harry. 

but the words die in his throat. instead, he stammers for a second before his lip quivers and he begins to cry, embarrassingly enough. he wants granger to leave him alone, to allow him to cry to himself at her kitchen table without an audience, but he can’t bring himself to. horribly, she stands and crosses the table, hovering over him for a moment before wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, resting a chin on the top of his head. worse still, he goes into her touch, burying his face in her soft stomach and releasing loud, earth shaking sobs. she strokes his hair as he cries into her blouse, murmuring things about healing and moving forward. 

when he’s finally done falling apart, she lets him retreat to his bedroom, where he cries and hates himself some more. a few hours later, a note is slipped under the door, containing an address and a small message scribbled on it. 

_thought talking to someone else might be more helpful to you. i found pansy parkinson’s information and got in contact with her - she’s looking forward to a letter from you, if you so choose. she’s been living in france for the last few years._

and so draco gets back in contact with pansy. they write each other tentative weekly letters at first, and then pansy instructs him to use granger’s floo so that she can see his face one evening. 

“oh, draco, darling,” she says as the connection establishes, and then they fall into conversation as easily as they had all those years ago, back at hogwarts. 

although draco was loathe to admit it, talking to pansy did help him to begin somewhat reconnecting with the person he had been before all of this had started. he found himself laughing more often, and actually having polite conversation with granger and weasley, beyond meaningless pleasantries. he even started calling them ron and hermione in his head. 

pansy often asked why he was writing and flooing her from ron and hermione’s home, and seemed to have developed the opinion that draco was a third in their relationship. it was easier to let her believe this than to try and explain that draco had foolishly married harry potter and allowed himself to be batted around for a few months, and so he didn’t bother correcting her. 

and then she invited him to her home in france for a week. 

draco had packed all of his meager possessions and taken the first portkey he could, thanking granger and weasley profusely and promising to be back. 

on their very first night together, draco and pansy had curled in her bed, drinking wine and catching up on their last few years. when he tells her about harry, she pulls him into her arms and doesn’t let go for a very long time. she curses his name, muttering about how she should’ve actually given him up to the dark lord, or should’ve killed him herself when given the opportunity. draco lets her rant, grateful to finally have a friend staunchly on his side, to have someone be openly incensed about harry. 

granger and weasley, although kind, were still very obviously torn about harry. draco had often felt weasley staring at him when he wasn’t looking, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes dark, as if blaming draco for turning his best friend into an abusive prick. granger often mentioned harry’s name before squeaking softly and looking away, blinking rapidly as tears flooded her eyes. neither had ever voiced their thoughts on the matter, but draco didn’t blame them. 

after all, he was the worst offender - he still loved harry deeply, and would probably continue to love him. he often thought about what he would do if harry appeared before him, apologetic and with open arms. draco was sure he would crawl right into them, drawn into harry’s magnetism like a forgetful moth. 

having pansy here, badmouthing harry and promising to never let draco see him ever again, was comforting in a way that bought tears to draco’s eyes. she wiped them away with her sharp nails, murmuring to draco that he was safe here, in france, and that harry potter would never lay a finger or an eye on him, ever again. 

when he called ron and hermione to tell them he wasn’t coming back to england, they had hummed good naturedly and told him that it was probably for the best. 

“thank you,” he had choked out, suddenly very embarrassed of himself for crying over granger and weasley. “for everything, really, you two -”

“don’t worry about it, draco,” ron had said gruffly. “we’re sorry. for not noticing something earlier.” 

he slept in pansy’s bed with her for another month, before she had begun urging him politely to begin looking for other arrangements - ones that included a steady job and his own place to stay. 

he searched for jobs tirelessly, becoming more and more discouraged with each gentle frown and sad nod. he was horribly underqualified, after all, what with not finishing his schooling and having never worked a job to date. harry hadn’t seen a need for him to work, when he could instead spend all day cooking and cleaning and fretting over harry’s next bout of anger. 

he had slumped one day, defeated, outside of a bakery, tearing at a chocolate muffin when the idea had struck. he asked the young till worker for the manager, a friendly old wizard with a shiny bald head - and had left two hours later with an apron and a new job. 

it was in this bakery that draco met andrew, two years later - tall, dark, handsome, and with a thrilling crooked smile. he was a lawyer, although incredibly soft-spoken, and always ordered the same croissant and latte, before sitting at the small corner table with his muggle laptop and typing away for a few hours every week. 

“ _tu sais, nos croissants ne sont pas si spéciaux,_ ” draco smiled one day, handing over the pastry and a napkin. “ _ice sont nos muffins qui sont incroyables_.” 

“ _peut-être que je ne viens pas pour les croissants_ ,” andrew had said softly, his fingers brushing draco’s. “ _peut-être qu'il y a quelqu'un d'autre que je regarde_ ,”

it had taken a long time for draco to get used to the idea of andrew genuinely wanting him, and not to simply use as a punching bag. he had been heavily urged on by pansy and hermione, who encouraged the idea of draco _getting back out there_ and learning how to enjoy love once again. 

andrew had been remarkably patient - never pressuring draco into doing anything he didn’t wan to do, and being respectful of his boundaries at all times. they hadn’t even kissed until the end of their fifth date, when draco pulled him close at the end of the night and brushed their lips together lightly, savoring the feeling of fireworks exploding in his chest. it had been so long since he had felt anything of the sort - he had quickly called pansy and screamed to her for nearly an hour about their five second kiss, and ended the call feeling a bit like a ridiculous teenage girl. the first time that they slept together, draco had excused himself to the bathroom afterwards for a very long time, doing his best to stop himself from hyperventilating and nearly being sick everywhere. he had come out of the bathroom to andrew greeting him with a warm blanket and a spread of fruits and cheeses, and his stomach had twisted unfamiliarly. 

when draco had finally told andrew the story of harry, he saw him angry for the very first time. he had clenched his fists and his jaw, fuming quietly, until he saw the way that draco tensed up beside him. and then he had excused himself from the room, only returning ten minutes later, much calmer and with that familiar, gentle smile on his face. there seemed to be a different air of understanding surrounding them now - an explanation for draco’s hesitation concerning their relationship, a new understanding for why it had taken them almost a year to reach milestones that most couples reached within three months.

“ _je suis désolé, mon amou_ r,” he had whispered, placing a gentle hand on draco’s knee. he squeezed it lightly, the same way he did everything, and draco felt himself begin to fall madly in love. “ _tellement désolé_.”

-

it happens on movie night.

draco wears sweatpants - _sweatpants!_ \- and a tattered jumper that definitely belonged to andrew at one point, as they stand in the kitchen together, carefully dipping strawberries into a bowl of melted chocolate so that they can enjoy them together during the movie. draco pushes a toothpick into a particularly plump strawberry and hands it to him just as the sound of the door knocking fills their home. 

“ _tu restes,_ ” draco says, “i’ll get it.” 

he pads to the door, licking the excess chocolate from his fingers as he does. at his feet, lucy, their puppy trots beside him, always pleased with any activity that has to do with opening the door. 

“get back, lucy,” draco laughs softly as she runs through his legs. “if you trip me, i’ll eat you!” he’s still grinning down at her as he yanks open the door, using one foot to keep her from running out. “ _s'asseoir!_ ” 

the person at the door laughs - a soft, familiar laugh that sends a chill down draco’s spine and leaves him frozen in shock. 

“ _qui est-ce?_ ” comes andrew’s voice from the kitchen, already growing louder as he approaches. he does this everytime - sends draco to open the door and then appears behind him anyways, his curiosity getting the best of him each time. “draco? they must be important, to interrupt movie night!” 

draco doesn’t answer, can’t answer, because he’s too busy staring straight ahead, into harry’s eyes. he wants to run and scream, to burst into tears and fall to the ground, sobbing. he wants to close the door and pretend this this never happened, wants to find a time turner and go back in time actually make this never happen. 

but he can’t do any of these things, because he can’t move. he stands stock still while lucy sniffs at his feet and pants excitedly at the new stranger, while andrew appears behind him, wrapping a familiar arm around his waist. 

“ _j'ai dit qui est-ce_ ,” he mutters to draco, holding out a hand for harry to shake. draco doesn’t have to turn around to know that andrew is smiling, that same brilliant smile that he had used to ensnare draco almost five years ago. “hello,” he says now, his accent making the words sound pleasant in his mouth. “you are?”

harry’s eyes flick to draco, and draco bristles. he fights the urge to turn around and bury his face in andrew’s shirt. 

“andrew,” draco says shakily, staring at the hand stretched out beside him. ”this is harry.”

the change is instantaneous, watching andrew transform from his familiar, light hearted self to the person draco knows he is at work: demanding, authoritative, and forceful. he drops his hand and steps in front of draco, puffing up his shoulders and sneering at harry. 

“what are _you_ doing here?” he demands, jabbing a finger in harry’s direction. 

“i just want to talk to draco,” harry says earnestly. he looks over andrew’s shoulder, catching draco’s eye - green meets grey, and draco feels his heart begin to pound in his chest, the same way it had all those years ago, when harry had first approached him, when he had began to fall in love. it had been those very same eyes that had pulled him in, kind and bright and alluring. he remembers he way those eyes had looked after each kiss, when harry would stroke his cheek lightly, when they would hold hands, when harry would grab draco, when he would squeezes his wrist, being shoved, being slapped, being choked - 

draco finds himself gasping shakily, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. 

“fuck off,” andrew spits, already beginning to close the door. 

“wait!” draco says, surprising even himself. “drew, it’s okay - _c'est bon, mon amour. terminer les collations._ ”

“draco…” he says softly, turning to look down at him. his eyes swim with worry, and draco’s breath catches. there’s love, and the desire to protect in andrew’s eyes. andrew, who draco lives with. andrew, who will only be a few feet away, should draco need him. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “i’ll be okay. just go get things ready for us. _soirée cinéma, tu te souviens?_ ” 

“i will be right in the kitchen,” he says, glaring at harry. “if you fucking touch him, i will -” 

“drew,” draco says softly, touching the small of his back. he stops abruptly and sighs before turning and moving out of the way. he fixes draco with a long, hard look, and draco tips his chin up so that drew can catch him in a gentle kiss. 

“right in the kitchen,” he murmurs, patting draco’s chin. “ _je vais le tuer._ ”

he walks away then, disappearing into the kitchen. after a few moments, draco hears the familiar sound of one of andrew’s culinary knives being drawn and sharpened. if he weren’t so shocked right now, he might’ve actually laughed at the idea of his soft-hearted partner actually stabbing harry. 

“you’re married?” harry asks immediately, looking down at draco’s hand. his eyes trace the modest ring on his finger, simple but sturdy. 

“engaged,” he says softly. “drew is good to me.” he adds, letting the unspoken _like you used to be_ ring in the air. 

“right,” he says, nodding stiffly. “i suppose that’s about right, then.” draco wants to get up in arms, to shout in harry’s face about how draco doesn’t need his approval before getting into another relationship, and that six long years of feeling unlovable is long enough of a punishment, that he deserves real, true love, finally. he wants to rage at harry, now that he’s able to. he could scream in his face, could probably even reach forward and slap him - andrew is just a few feet away and he might actually stab harry if he dares to lay a finger on draco. but, before draco can get a word in, harry continues. “draco, i’m sorry. there’s no excuse for what i did to you… what i put you through. i was so fucked up, and i took it out on you… it wasn’t right. but i’ve gone to therapy, gotten help. i’ve changed now.” 

“oh,” draco says, looking down. “how did you find me?” it had been a fear of his for a long time - the idea that harry would show up to wherever he was, tearing down wards or breaking through doors, just to get through to draco. and here he was, standing on draco’s doorstep as if he had a right to be there.

“i’ve been looking for months. nobody would tell me… i had to find you in the magical directory.” 

draco didn’t know what that was, or why he was in it, but he was suddenly very concerned with destroying it as soon as possible. however, did it even matter anymore? harry had already found him. when he doesn’t say anything for a while, harry continues speaking. 

“i’m sorry, draco,” he says again. “we don’t have to have a relationship or anything like that. i just wanted you to know that i’ve changed. i’m not that person anymore - who hurt you.” 

draco nods jerkily, shifting in place. 

“i haven’t spoken to hermione in years. says she hates me, won’t forgive me for what i did to you.” he continues. draco had already known this - granger had said as much in their letters and phone calls over the years. her grandfather had been terribly abusive to her grandmother, hitting and disrespecting her constantly, both in front her her mother and behind closed doors. she had told him about the way her mother had always been a bit standoffish and proved to be difficult to love at times, a left-over side-effect of witnessing terrible abuse as a child. she wouldn’t forgive harry, ever, and would always feel guilty for not noticing something in draco earlier. “i haven’t been allowed to see teddy. the weasley’s have only just started to speak to me again. ron, not so much.” he had expected this - he had never been too close with any of them, and they had probably been more abhorred at the idea of harry being so upset than they had been at the idea of harry beating draco. “don’t think i’ll be invited to the burrow for dinner any time soon. it’s been hard -” suddenly, draco wishes that pansy were here with him. she would swear harry within an inch of his life, in both english and french, and then probably hex him for daring to make this situation about himself. “but i know i deserve it,” _too right,_ draco thinks. “i hurt you - i didn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved.” 

he finally tapers off, looking at draco expectantly. 

“harry,” he says, finally saying his name. it tumbles out of him clumsily - he hasn’t said it in over a year. references to his past are minimal and non-descript. andrew had been adamant about moving forward and not allowing the past to define their future together, and draco had readily accepted this dogma. harry was very rarely mentioned by name, and the impact he had on draco’s daily life was handled with care. “why did you come here?” 

harry flinches slightly as draco’s words land, and he tries not to revel in it. the idea that he might be able to hold some sort of power over harry, can make him feel afraid and sad and small and insignificant, the way he had done to draco so many times, for so long, grips him and almost makes him smile. 

“i wanted to see you,” harry says softly. “so that you can know i’m better now. that i’ve changed.” 

he keeps using that word: _change_. 

it’s true, harry _has_ changed. draco stares into his eyes - they’re clear, clearer than draco had seen them in a very long time. he looks healthy and fit, as if he started working out more, and perhaps doing yoga after draco had left. he’s clean shaven, and his hair is longer, brushing his neck attractively. his shoulders are relaxed - and the stark difference between the harry that stands before him and the harry he had seen last, the hard shoulders and back, is jarring. harry looks good, like the man draco fell in love with, all those years ago, and it pains him like nothing else. 

he doesn’t want to love harry - doesn’t want to be attracted to or to feel something for the man who had almost killed him so many times. harry had claimed to love draco, but had looked him in the eyes and purposefully inflicted as much damage as he could - hitting and punching and bending and breaking, just because he _could_ , because he knew that draco wouldn’t do anything about it. this is harry - the reason why he had spent months holed up in ron and hermione’s guest bedroom, trembling with fear and debilitating anxiety. the reason why he had hardly been able to stomach anything of substance without running to the bathroom to be sick, or to break down into tears. 

even now, more than six years later, draco still flinches when andrew raises his voice in an argument, or while on the phone with his colleagues. he knows that andrew wouldn’t dare hurt him - but harry had instilled a fear in draco so deep that he feared he would never be able to have a truly healthy relationship. 

he stares at harry, at the man he loved. still loves. might always fucking love - and blinks back heavy tears. just gazing at harry, standing before him, is enough to make his heart warm in his chest - the same pathetic way it had every time harry had looked at him, or touched him, or kissed him. 

he thinks about andrew - with his dark skin and crooked smile and gentle voice and large hands, about the way that draco can still hear him pacing the kitchen right now, shaking with anger. he’s always been this way about draco - protective, and willing to go to bat for him. andrew is kind, and loving, and smart, and accepting. he loves draco, wholeheartedly, even on the days when he is impossible to love. andrew looks over at him when he’s at his worst, and smiles and says _tu es si belle, mon ange_ . andrew visits draco at his bakery as often as he can, always ordering that same croissant, and leaning across the counter for a gentle kiss and a whispered _i love you_. he understands that draco struggles with their relationship sometimes - struggles with showing the love that he feels inside - a remnant of his and harry’s relationship, and a permanent, brutal reminder of what had happened that night that draco had tried to show harry that he loved him. andrew is perfect and draco loves him so very much, more than he ever thought himself capable of after harry. 

harry, who stands on his doorstep, claiming to be changed, with his hand outstretched. his hand, the hand that had wrapped around draco’s throat and _squeezed_ \- 

draco stares blankly at harry’s hand - thinking about the time the roles had been reversed when he had offered harry his own hand and been rejected. he pastes a smile on - a pureblood smile, still ingrained in him after all these years. he looks up at harry and catches his eye, those bright, electric green eyes. a part of him misses those eyes. will always miss them. andrew’s eyes are a nondescript brown. 

“i’m glad you’re feeling better, harry,” draco says softly, and harry immediately smiles. that bright, earth-shattering smile, the very same one that has made draco fall so many fucking times. his throat squeezes shut, tight. he has to force himself to open his mouth - to finish his sentence and not run into harry’s arms and kiss him, forgive him of everything and absolve him of his sins, of the abuse. “please don’t come here again.” 

as draco’s words register, a crestfallen expression passes over his face. his mouth contorts into a grim frown, so disappointed, so angry, so _familiar_. “draco,” harry starts, stepping closer. 

“goodbye, harry.” draco says softly, cutting him off. he doesn’t want to hear what he has to say - how he might try to guilt draco into listening to whatever it is he has to say, or staying, or letting him in. he doesn’t want to listen, because he doesn’t trust himself not to fall for it - even after all this time. 

draco closes the door.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!!
> 
> I wrote idiot (with the painted face) so long ago and have no desire at all to continue the story - however I did get quite a few comments asking for a sequel. i'm sure this isn't the ending people actually wanted (ahah), but i might have something in the works to appease those who are bigger fans of draco's story taking a... darker turn. maybe ;)
> 
> anyways, good for draco, am i right!!!! everyone deserves a happily ever after. 
> 
> as per usual, all comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc are highly appreciated! 
> 
> <3


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